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I’m not going to say where I was or how it happened, but I will tell you I was getting paid at the time and it wasn’t an accident. While I admit I am slightly ashamed of my inappropriate slumber, overall I feel pretty okay about it. After all, some people shower with kids at their jobs. I just fell asleep. Lena – 1, Penn State Staff – 0.

Still this has me slightly concerned. Not just about my evident narcolepsy but the fact that I am so un-stimulated at my current employment that I can disappear to the bathroom for ten minutes and nap without anyone in my three-person office noticing. Really makes one feel a sense of value in the American workforce.

Nevertheless, I have decided that I can’t let this happen again. If I’m going to disappear for ten minutes, unnoticed, I’d rather it be to do something really important like read US Weekly in the bookstore or talk to Butch, the new janitor who likes to wink at me while stroking his mop. Just kidding. I stroke it for him.

Nothing in the last paragraph is true.

Anyway. Today while driving home from work I started to think, which was a strange adjustment after five hours of not thinking at all, about all of the other people in the world who are as un-stimulated by their work as I am, and wondering how they handle it. It didn’t take a great deal of brain power to determine the answer to all of life’s inevitably dull moments.

Now, everyone knows that I have a special place in my heart reserved for people who Google ridiculous things, because more often than not they end up at my blog. I’m not sure how it happens. I’m not sure how the search phrase “sometimes I feel sad and then I remember I have a nice big round ass” brings someone to my blog. But it does and it makes me happy.

So when I got home I decided to review all of the Google search terms that brought people to my blog in the past month, and much to my irrational level of happiness, I discovered that many a lost soul has reached my blog through deep, heart-wrenching, questions entered in the Google search box, only to be lost in the abyss of porn and pictures of cats that make up 96% of the content of the Internet.

Because of this, I have decided that I will take this time to respond to only the most imperative of questions my blog was formerly unable to answer. Here we go.

Italians aren’t selective. They love women. All women. In fact, Italian men love women so much that by default, one gay Italian man will have more heterosexual sex in one month than four straight Jewish men will in their entire lives. I didn’t just make this up.

But realistically, every woman will have sex with at least one Italian man in her life. If she doesn’t she might be a lesbian, but is probably just a Mormon. In which case she will have lots of unsatisfying arranged sex with a much older man she is possibly related to, enough times that she will decide she hates all men, including Italians.

Mormonism: the everyday cure to female heterosexuality.

PS: Sorry, Mormons.

4. Why is it that that other woman has big legs?

An evolutionary defense against short Italians. And all Mormons.

5. Why is my urine very orange?

There are only three reasons urine is ever orange.

A. You have liver disease. Good luck with that

B. You eat too many carrots. F*** you.

C. You live in New Jersey. All of the above

Jersey Girls: So hot, even their pee burns!

6. Who is that tattooed man drinking coffee and wearing a pea coat?

It’s difficult to say without seeing the man in question, but nine times out of ten, it’s Taylor Lautner pretending to be straight.

7. How can I tell if a girl is wearing a butt pad?

Her butt cheeks are disproportionate to her desperation.

8. Are meth addicts proud of their addiction?

Duh.

9. Why do I curse so much?

Because socially forbidden words are more satisfying to use than academically impressive ones.

And you know once you’re old it will be really funny.

10. What is it like to live alone with a pet dog?

Depressing. No one else you ever live with will love you so much they will hold their pee for 9 hours until they see you. It’s all downhill from there.

I know what you’re thinking. Why you gotta pull the race card into it, bitch? Because she does. All the time. Every time she talks about finding a new one she specifies that he will have to be 100% black. None of the half and half shit.

Honestly, the black part really doesn’t bother me. Live and let live, right? Plus he can be sort of cute when he wants to be.

Sort of.

But what makes me want to drop kick him out the door is his unfounded sense of entitlement. I try to tell her that it’s unhealthy to let him run her life and interfere in our family, but she tells me that he really loves her and tells him not to listen to me. It’s a vicious cycle that’s been going on for far too long.

I don’t know if she was feeling lonely or what, but four years ago she got “online.” She started browsing ads with pictures and descriptions, all looking for their “best friend” promising to be “fun “and “loving.” All the standard lines.

Then she saw him. To quote her, “I saw that black face and I just fell in love.”

Pathetic.

A few weeks later he moved in. A few days after that and he was already sleeping in her bed. Now, I’m not saying my mom is easy or anything but… I was living there at the time and I can tell you with 100% certainty, it didn’t take that much convincing.

It was okay at first. He was friendly enough and kind of fun to hang out with. My brother wasn’t too big on the whole thing though. Overtime we all came to accept the fact that things were going to be different.

But after a few months of him lounging around the house, sleeping full days while my mom worked, then demanding meals when she got home, it became quite obvious that this had transformed into a highly abusive relationship.

when you consider the fact that these are both actors it's pretty funny...well, maybe just to me

She stopped going out on evenings and weekends always saying she “felt bad” about leaving him. I kept telling her that he was a big boy and he could survive without her for a while, but she’d just shake her head and tell me I didn’t understand. It wasn’t that easy.

Overtime he convinced her that he was really lonely during the days, crying and throwing fits. Instead of kicking his ass out, she invited his little sister to come live with us too. His little sister is not much younger than him, same dad different mom. She’s only half black, but twice as loud.

Now here we are, four years later, with things getting worse by the day. He’s still not working, still demanding all of her attention, and still only willing to eat organic food served at very specific temperatures. But that’s hardly the worst part.

So apparently, Panera Bread attracts a large population of well-bearded men. All but one of the five men in my line of sight have beautiful, manly, tuggable beards that I want to play with until the wee hours of dawn.

Sitting on a laptop, hoping no one has noticed that I am drinking a coffee from somewhere else and never actually made a PB purchase, I can’t help but wonder why I am always being confronted by these sightings of manly beards that will never be mine to enjoy. I also have to wonder why all of these men are always at a minimum of ten years older than me, and when I will see a man in my dating age bracket that will satisfy my facial hair needs.

Probably never.

This is the #49 reason I will always be alone.

I’m pretty sure #48 has something to do with the fact that I am a 22 year old woman, picking my gingerbread man scab in the corner of a food service location.